


The Parting Glass

by momopeachchild



Series: Dragon Age Writings [21]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Background Anders!, Background Fenris, Background Hawke Fam!, Background Isabella, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone's in the Background!, Multi, background Varric - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momopeachchild/pseuds/momopeachchild
Summary: Hawke has been left to fight the Fear Demon. Thoughts fill her head as she bares her teeth and charges.Hawkes never say die.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke, Bethany Hawke/Merrill (background)
Series: Dragon Age Writings [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/210650
Kudos: 12





	The Parting Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [against_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/against_stars/gifts).



> Why yes this is 2020.  
> Yes this is technically a songfic  
> The world is on fire, I can do what I want.
> 
> Dedicated to @Against_stars.  
> Why? Because I can, and her Hawke gives me life.

_Oh all the money that e'er I spent_   
_I spent it in good company_

It was a simple tune, though somber. It wasn't one Anders had known all the words to, as he'd learned it second hand, or perhaps third hand himself. A few mages he'd known at Kinloch, he said, would hum it when some of the apprentices didn't come back from their Harrowing. The local Minstrel knew the bits he hadn't. He'd sang it just once for them, after too much shitty ale at the Hanged Man; when it'd been a few years since Karl, since he'd met all of them. The emotions had still been quite raw in his voice. 

  
Despite that, they'd all been relatively good company at that point. And they'd spent quite a bit of Hawke's returned money; on armor, on drink, on one too many lost games of Wicked Grace. 

_And all the harm that e'er I've done_   
_Alas, it was to none but me_

Not that it mattered. No amount of money in the world, no amount of fighting against those who would do harm could undo the harm done to her heart. It would never bring Malcolm or Leandra back. It couldn't get Bethany out of the damned Gallows, nor have Carver free of the Templars. The boy'd been a fool to think Meredith would have permitted him to serve in Kirkwall. He was an even bigger fool to think Elthinia would force her. His last letter told of how dreadful Ostwick was, despite it's claims of being the "Best Circle". 

It was a bitter realization for him. Malcolm had kept it from him. He hadn't kept it from her. She was to protect Bethany, she had to know from what. Maybe if he'd known, he wouldn't have been so angry all the time. Maybe if she'd known how to reach him, he'd have stayed. Maybe if Aveline hadn't had her head so stuck up her own ass, she'd have allowed him on the City Guard. Was that unfair? It didn't matter. She should have known to keep her at arms length. She'd married a Templar after all.

_And all I've done for want of wit_   
_To memory now I can't recall_

Marian knew she was smart. She could be witty, but that wasn't a part of her she had permitted to be nurtured and to grow. Besides, Varric was the one for witty quips. Most of them she couldn't remember if she tried. Reading his books she wasn't sure if half of them he hadn't made up for the narrative. Most of them he attributed to her. He made her to be a fierce protector, loyal to her friends, deadly to her enemies, and well read and witty to boot. He made her into a Hawke she didn't know. If she'd ever been close to that character in his book, she didn't remember them.   
It didn't matter now. 

  
She pulled her sword from her back.

_So fill to me the parting glass_   
_Good night and joy be with you all_

There was a demon before her. One that preyed on weaknesses, fears. She blocked it's words as best she could. Words of failure, of betrayal, of broken oaths, and her family dying because of her. If only it knew whatever it threw at her, she'd said to herself every night since Malcolm died. Every day since she lost Bethany and Carver to the Templars. Every waking minute since she failed to save her mother. Nothing it could say could hurt her like she'd hurt herself.

Baring her teeth, she screamed a battle cry and charged. 

  
And hoped to anything good that could listen that they had the time they needed to flee. The time to end this mess.

_Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had_   
_Are sorry for my going away_

But this way, they would be safe. Everyone could be safe.

Varric was out, he had to be, on the other side of this hell. Away from this demon to see through this mess with the red lyrium, of blighted templars, and fake Archdemons. 

Merrill and Bethany were with their fleeing mages, of Elves who fled Kirkwall with them. They were safe, tucked away from all of the conflicts. They had their people, and they had each other. Nothing would take that away from them. Hawke wouldn't let that happen.

Isabella and Fenris, last she heard, they were ferrying escaping slaves, mages, and any poor soul who was trying to find some place as far from the conflict and demons that they could get. She hoped the seas would be calm on their journeys. 

Aveline she knew was trying to hold what was left of Kirkwall together. She wished her the best. It probably would have been better to let it burn and try again, but Hawke never did get a say in that conversation.

_And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had_   
_Would wish me one more day to stay_

Anders.

He was safe, in good hands away from any fool who might do him harm. They'd been found, on their travels, by the two people who could help him most. She'd met a cousin she'd never known til then. With much heartache, she parted with them; Anders and his family before he'd ever known her. If there were any people who would make sure none touched him, Cosette would be the one. And perhaps all together, they could find a cure for whatever it was that made them Wardens. For this thing that made them susceptible to this Darkspawn Magister who controlled him once.

  
She could only pray that he would be able to forgive her for this.

_But since it falls unto my lot_   
_That I should rise and you should not_

Marian Hawke had no grasp of time in this place. She had no guess as to how long she hacked at this fiend, who had grown fat, gorging itself on the fears of any it could reach. Green ooze ran across her face, into her eyes, and still she hacked at it. Her own blood ran down her from wounds she didn't feel. It merely drove her to fight harder, strike faster, and to be done with this creature once and for all. The way out had closed long ago, that she knew, but still she fought. She was not a woman to lie down and say die. Gritting her teeth, she pressed on still, taking down one leg, then another, a group of eyes here and there. Anything she could reach, anything that would weaken its defenses and bring it closer to her level.

She once told Malcolm as a child she'd kill any demon that came near Bethany. He had laughed and told her it was a lovely sentiment. Little did he know.

_I'll gently rise and I'll softly call_   
_Good night and joy be with you all_   
_Good night and joy be with you all_

  
Still, despite all her anger, all her training, she was only human. There was only so much time that could pass where she could deny that she would weaken. She missed an easy blow, cursing herself silently as she rolled out of a blow from the creature, running into another leg poised to attack. 

  
Idiot.

She should have seen it. She should have avoided it.

The blue shimmering shield that knocked the attack away was not one she recognized immediately. The screaming voice behind the helmet, however, was. Justice, Vengence, whatever you called him, he was as much Anders as Anders was. Taking the offered hand, she stood up and grinned. 

  
"You're Late."

Nodding to each other, she turned once more to face her foe, and with a twin battle cry, took up her blade once more.

Marian Hawke would never lie down in defeat. Not when her family still needed her.


End file.
